


Powers That Be

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Airplane Crashes, Creation, Gen, Magic, Religion, Superheroes, Suspense, Terrorism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 22:39:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7241674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Set in Rebirth #1 featuring the unnamed child on the plane.) It's a gamble... a bet that there's something more meant for at least one soul on board this plane tonight. If one person here is worth a single moment more to the universe... it will all level out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Powers That Be

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my interpretation of what may or may not have gone down in Batman Rebirth #1. Check it. ;)  
> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: "No Comprende" by Low

There is no panic. Not even an ounce of fear in my heart when the explosion hits. Even as the plane starts its uncontrolled plummet toward the Earth, there is no trepidation and no horror. _It is what it is_. My mind knows there's nothing I can do to change the situation and even as the people around me began to lose their fragile grip on reality, my own mind only focuses on what _is_. 

I am here. I exist for this moment in time. These people around me... they do, too. Like it or not, the end could lie in front of us or an unlikely savior could rise to the occasion and find it in them to bless our plight with their merciful hand. But there is nothing _I_ can do to change any of that. 

The woman next to me grips her rosary as if it will be the answer to her salvation. She places her hope on a religion that has not shown face in hundreds of years. I do not shun her for this nor are my thoughts meant to be mocking of her faith that leads her to believe prayer will spared her. She's an older woman, perhaps only a good fifteen years left in her life and yet she's still fighting for it in the only way she can, clinging to that cross, a certain wildness in her eyes. I respect her for that - sticking to her ideals and her path even in light of what is very likely tragedy.

Now the man across the aisle from her, he's on the other end of the spectrum. His hands are shaking, his brow sweating, and he looks ready to claw his way out of here, even if he has to take all of us out to do it. His fingers curl up into a maddened clawed pose and he begins his tirade, one I could have seen coming a mile away if I'd been paying him any attention before all of this started. Just one glance and I _know_ what's about to come spewing out of his mouth - a _vomit_ of words, all meant to dig into the heart of this city and the potential of what's about to happen to all of us. Because in my mind, it is still only a _potential_. 

It's a gamble... a bet that there's something more meant for at least one soul on board this plane tonight. If one person here is worth a single moment more to the universe it will all level out. A flash of black against the lighter color of the wing catches my eye and my gaze is transfixed instantly. No one else is looking out the windows. No one else cares for anything but the plight of their own impending death. They could react. They could try to find a way to survive. They could follow the safety instructions on the booklet we were all supposed to care about before this flight. 

They do not.

The man's words come spraying out, poignant with their venom, hardened with the sickness infecting the passengers of this plane. "This is Gotham! Gotham's killing us! Any other damn city - Superman or Lantern, whoever - somebody'd be flying to catch us! But no! We're in Gotham! Who's going to catch you in Gotham?!"

Beyond the double-paned window, I just _watch_. I watch _him_ do his work. The way he doesn't stop to hesitate, the flow of his work as he's all over the place. It's a piece of art. I want to tell the man, “It's Batman. He is the one who will catch us tonight.”

I can hear a woman a few rows behind me sobbing to her husband, telling him how much she's missed him and how much she wanted to be home and she's _sorry_... so sorry. There's an infant wailing somewhere up front. And the back... the _far_ back... I can't think about that. About the people who _used to be_ back there. 

"And it's... it's our fault! It's all our fault! What are we? Jokers and Riddlers, and... and Penguins! This... this city... it's... you get the hero you deserve, y'know. And what... what do we deserve?" Still these vile words of misunderstanding cut through the hell of what we're _all_ going through. _As if he's the only one._

He speaks about it as if we don't already have the hero we deserve, the one we need. As if _our_ hero isn't out on the wing of this plane already trying his best to save us. He may not fly. He may not have super-human strength, but he has guts and determination and a _desire_ to save Gotham no matter the cost. I can't help but think that's the piece of this that matters the most. Not us inside this plane, but the _man_ outside of it. 

Maybe that's wrong, to feel like he's the part that matters the most: the _hero_ of Gotham. But if one man can save us, if all of the people in here - every race and religion, every walk of life - can survive this because of _him_ , then he deserves every single second of my thoughts. Even if he _fails_. He still _tried_ and a very wise person once told me all any of us can ever do is try our best.

I can almost sense the way the cogs are turning in his mind as he crouches there on the wing. One glance and he's gone; I can just barely hear the thud on the roof and then on the other wing. The roar changes pitch and we start to level out from the horrible nosedive we've been steadily decaying into. It's not going to stop us, not by any means, but it's enough to change the once-inevitable angle of impact. There's still a very _real_ chance he cannot save us this time and that he won't save _himself_ this time. 

This guy across the aisle keeps going, keeps ranting on and on about Gotham and its _dirt_ , the scum and how _we_ are paying for it. This is a man who believes he is about to die and yet all he can do is place _blame_. Blame on Gotham. Blame on Batman. Blame on the criminals and the underbelly of the city. 

It's all I can do to close my eyes and try to blot him out, but his words keep coming, keep invading my mind until my own anger at his denial overflows. I know we're about to hit the ground, the whistle of buildings passing us by, the tilt of the plane that I don't quite understand. When the words come spitting from my mouth like venom from a cobra, I can't regret them in the least. "He's always been _exactly_ what Gotham needs." And he's about to die. For _us_. For this ungrateful man so full of hatred that I can feel it seeping into my very pores... into my head and my heart. 

That's when I feel it: the spark of numbness in my fingertips. The ringing starts in my ears begins and my heart ceases to beat for a count of five. It's _always_ five. As if I'm instilling five seconds of my heart and countless years of my life into what happens next. This time I use it. I use it to save _him_. I use it to save us. I use it to save Gotham. 

The plane levels out at the last possible second and I know _this_ time it all came out right. I close my eyes and I see him. I see Batman and the unmistakable fear of his stance, the look of a man who's just made peace with death and then avoided it in the blink of an eye. The smallest hint of a smile curves my lips and my whisper offers them life. A life free of me, free of my bindings and my sway. They are Gotham's creations for the good of all. "I am Gotham and she is Gotham Girl."


End file.
